


Cedar, Lavender and Burning Cloves

by DemonLollipop



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (implied) - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Breeding Kink, Crying, Dubious Consent, Kinda, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Overstimulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Pollen, The Non-con is not between Jaskier and Geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22248325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonLollipop/pseuds/DemonLollipop
Summary: It begins with Jaskier, as most things do in Geralt's world.ORGeralt gets drugged by a succubus and finds himself out of control in the worst way possible.Luckily, Jaskier doesn't mind.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 2104





	Cedar, Lavender and Burning Cloves

**Author's Note:**

> I really have no explanation for this. 
> 
> I haven't read the books (yet) and I haven't played the games (again, yet), so take this with a grain of salt, yeah?
> 
> Enjoy!

It begins with Jaskier, as most things do in Geralt’s world. 

Jaskier is chattering like a mockingbird beside him as they enter the town, dressed in cornflower blue and primrose pink beneath his jacket. His eyes, his smile, wide and sharp like a scythe to cut the grain from fields or facts from Witchers and way-laid travelers. The dim light of evening doesn't dim him beyond making his eyes darker, keener in the half-light. 

“Geralt! Are you listening to me, good man?” The bard snaps and Geralt look down from where he is surveying the landscape before them, the buildings and milling people who stare and whisper as the two pass by.

“No” He grunts and spies an inn not far away, lit piss-yellow within and even from the distance between them, he can smell the unwashed flesh and bitter alcohol on the wind. “We’re stopping here for the night.”

“Oh, good. Perhaps I can even fetch us some coin!” Jaskier says and Geralt sees his fingers twitch, itching to play after Geralt snapped at him not a day ago that if he heard another string plucked, the lute would below to a nest of drowners. “Shall I get us set for the night?”   
  


Geralt hums in agreement as they reach the stable and the bard disappears into the Inn while Geralt guides Roach into a stall, glaring at the stable boy when he tries to grab the reins.

“Do not touch Roach” He orders, and the boy goes wraith-white under his gaze, swallowing hard. 

“Yes sir, Witcher sir” The boy stammers and by the time Jaskier comes back, lute at the ready, Geralt has Roach brushed, hooves checked and watered. 

“Geralt! Good news and bad news I'm afraid” Jaskier starts and winces when Geralt’s eyes narrow. “Good news? We have a bed and a bath waiting for us if we would like. Bad news? There’s only one room and the innkeeper will only allow us to stay if we kill something for him.”

Geralt stares at his companion for a long moment before huffing. “And what does this innkeeper want us to kill?”

“He’s not sure exactly. Somethings been killing people in their beds, leaving their families to find them cold and bruised beside them.” Jaskier’s brow furrows and Geralt has the urge to smooth out his bard’s brow before he squashes the urge down, though it is not helped when Jaskier begins to chew on his lower lip. “What beast could do such a thing?”

“I will need more information” The Witcher sighs and grabs his back from Roach’s back, giving her a gentle pat on the neck as he leaves, following Jaskier out of the stables. “Sing your songs, talk to people. Come to me if you find anything useful.”

Jaskier nods and swallows hard as they enter the tavern, leading Geralt to the Innkeeper, where he stands at the bar. “We will be taking your job, sir. But first, the room?”

The Keeper eyes the both of them, before grunting and tossing Jaskier a key, the head of it tied with a black ribbon. “At the end of the hall, on the left. I expect the job done in two days’ time, Witcher.”

Jaskier smiles at the Innkeep while Geralt nods, taking the key from his bard. “Youll have your monster.” He promises and heads across the room, hiking the stairs quickly. He doesn't bother looking to see if Jaskier is following, hearing the man begin to play in the common room below. 

Shutting the door muffles the sound, but does not wholly mask it and Geralt sighs heavily, rolling his shoulders. His satchel is placed carefully by the bed, his sword placed next to it, still sheathed. The knock on the door as him placing a hand on the dagger at his belt as he faces the door.

He approaches the door slowly and opens it quickly, to find a barmaid there, holding a pitcher of water. Behind her, two younger men stand, each holding two more pitchers of steaming water.

“I-I've come with you-your bath sir” The maid stutters, clearly not expecting a Witcher, and a moody one even less. He eyes her quietly, before moving out of the door frame to allow her and the men to enter. They do their jobs quickly, pouring their pitchers into the bath at the back of the room with little fanfare. As the last of them leave, Geralt clears his throat a bit, making the little maid turn, fear in her scent.

The fear turns to confusion as he tosses her a coin, nods, and closes the door behind her, without saying another word.

The bath is steaming, too hot for humans to bathe in safely, but Geralt strips out of his leathers and clothing quickly despite it. The water feels scorching on his too-cold body, his slow heart making the moment harder for him to concentrate on. 

But the water feels like summer on his skin, and for a moment, he lets his mind stop racing, and just feel, listening for the sound of his bard laughing and singing below him. 

The smell of the inn is a harsh thing to his nose, but for a moment, he breathes in deep and smells-

_ Clove-rose-cinnamon _

His eyes snap open to see his bounty hovering over him, a smile like a harvest moon on her tanned face. Her breasts are heavy, soft-looking things, her waist soft, thighs plump and well-fed. She looks like a woman who’s never known hunger, or grief, or loneliness.

Her eyes carry fire and she smells like ruin.

“Succubus” He hisses and her smile grows wider, golden teeth sharp and glittering.

“Witcher” She purrs back and he barely has time to scramble out of the bath before she is on him. She is strong, fresh from feeding and warm with borrowed life. Her hips grind on his traitor of a cock as it fills, twitching against the soft, wet heat of her core. 

“Such vitality!” She crows as he throws her off, standing as he picks up his sword. “Such  _ control _ . Tell me, Witcher, can you not feel it? _ ” _

Geralt watches her hands roam over her hips, down to the apex of her thighs, dipping in for a moment to come away shiny and slick. Her eyes glint.

“Don't you want to  _ take? _ ”

He growls in response and lunges forwards, striking at her head and shoulders, only for her to dodge, giggling in a way that makes his cock ache and vision go ruddy. She dances along the edge of his vision, a flicker of fingers along his shoulders and back making him dizzy as her scent chokes him, golden fangs shining in the fire-light.

“Men like you are made for  _ breeding _ ” She whispers as he whirls again, swinging for her chest, her soft thighs, the freckled skin of her back. “Thick, long, a perfect fit for  _ sons _ and making women rage in ecstasy”

Geralt hears her laugh once more and he is on his back, sword knocked away and suffocating on the smell of her as she pins him to the ground, fitting teeth and tongue to his neck as her wet cunt rocks against him. Her slick spills from her core, dripping along his length and onto his balls, then past as he chokes on her tongue, slithering into his mouth and down his throat. 

He bites down and a scream erupts from her, blood in his mouth as she pulls back, rage in her eyes.

“Bitch!” She howls, and he feels claws across his chest as his fingers wrap around his sword and with a swing, wilder than he meant, her face is halved. 

He watches as the top of her head topples off, sinews from her jaw pulling like webs and snapping as she falls to the side twitching, gold teeth stained black with ichor.

But the feeling of heat under his skin doesn't fade, and it isn’t until he sees the black spattering his chest and tastes clove on his tongue that he understands. 

“Fuck!” He snarls and staggers up, sliding the demon’s body to the side as he scrambles for his pack, looking for-  _ something _ . 

“Geralt, look!” A cheerful voice echoes through his ears and Geralt feels his head snap up as Jaskier enters the room, not looking at him at first. The bard’s hands hold coin and his smile is sun-flower bright as he slides its ray onto Geralt, where he is knelt, bloodied and hard on the ground. 

Jaskier’s smile slides off his face at the sight and the door behind him slams as Geralt’s bard slides his lute off his shoulder and strides over, hands reaching-

“Stay back!” Geralt shouts and he watches Jaskier flinch, stopping in his tracks. Geralt breathes heavy, panting into the stuffy, clove-scented air, and through it, he can smell Jaskier, the bitter lemon of fear and concern layering over the lavender and cedar of his own, natural smell. He growls and the lemon twists in his gut when Jaskier steps close anyway.

“Geralt, you’re  _ hurt”  _ He whispers, soft as dandelion fuzz. There is steel in his bard’s eyes as finally, Jaskier is kneeling before him, hand brushing against his cheek. “What happened?”

“Succubus. Dead now. Infected me, can’t-” Geralt growls out his words, or tries to when another wave of  _ want-need-claim- _ **_breed_ ** washes over him and in a flash of naked skin and silver-white hair, Jaskier is on the ground, pinned beneath the Witcher. 

Geralt buries his head into the junction of Jaskiers neck, ignoring the smell of rotten summer and digging deeper for spring, licking up the sweat that beads as his blood roars in his ears, heart fast and near feral.

“Geralt? Geralt! Get off-” The bard beneath him writhed until he felt teeth on his neck, sharp and warning. Jaskier struggles to get himself under control and stop shaking, but the feeling of Geralt above him, hands pinning his wrists to the floorboards, naked, hard and  _ wanting _ has him confused and scared in a way he has not been for a long, long time.

Jaskier does not fall in lust, but instead, he crashes into love like a dying star falling from the heavens and Geralt has made a crater in his heart for years now. 

But Geralt has never wanted him, not like this. Not like any of the whores that have graced his bed, walking funny and paid well. To see him this way, feverish where he is normally cold and bloodied, makes Jaskier  _ worried _ . 

“Geralt, you need to stop. There is something wrong. We need to get you help” Jaskier tries to insist and squeaks when Geralt grinds down, half-whining in his throat.

“Can't” Geralt grunts, shaking with effort. “Have to- can't go outside. They’ll see-”

“See what? You, under a spell? I think there’s more-”

“No!” Geralt snarls and rips his head from Jaskier’s shoulder, to let the younger man see the way his eyes are eclipses, black swallowing gold. “I can't let them see you. Not like this.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath and swallows before talking again. “Like what Geralt?” He whispered. 

“ _ Mine” _ He murmurs back, still shaking, still bleeding, though the wounds have closed and the blood is clotting, instead of staining Jaskiers doublet purple and rust. “I can smell you, covered in me, all the time. When you think I’m sleeping and try to keep quiet, gasping and panting my name. The smell of your seed on the soil as you whimper for me to fill you”

Jaskier freezes as Geralt leans down his breath against the bard’s lips. 

“Tell me no” He murmurs, and Jaskier shudders as Geralt’s lips brush his, petal-soft and bonfire-hot. “Tell me no, and I will stop”

There is stillness, blue meeting gold before Jaskier swallows and tilts his head back.

_ “Yes” _

There is no pause between Jaskiers whisper and Geralt hauling him up by his chemise. The Witcher's movements are exact, no movement wasted as he shoves Jaskier onto the straw bed. Their first real kiss is teeth and tongue, and Jaskier can taste clove on Geralt's tongue, sweet spice melting into him and making his skin burn, embers blazing as Geralt divests him of his jacket and loosens his collar. 

He watches in awe as Geralt rips through the laces holding his cock still, and slides down his trousers, making them bunch unpleasantly at his knees, trapping his legs. Jaskier yelps when the Witcher flips him over and tries not to kick out when he drags him to the edge of the bed until Jaskier is bent over it, ass in the air and knees on the ground, feeling Geralt’s cock sliding along his hole, dripping wet and hotter than hellfire. 

“Geralt, I need-” Jaskier tries to warn, only to gasp as slick fingers caress his hole, dipping in not more than a tip before retreating. “ _ Please _ ”

There is a quiet growl and the slick digit is pressing in, merciless and direct. The second comes not a pass after and Jaskier cries out as it grazes a spot in him that makes him see stars, constellations dancing in the black that follows. 

“Such a pretty thing” Geralt rumbles and Jaskier keens at the feeling of a tongue on his hole, licking around his fingers as they plunge in and out of him. “You're  _ mine _ . Mine to chase, mine to claim.”

Geralt’s voice drops even lower, somehow and his fingers rub constantly on the spot inside of Jaskier, making his cock weep where it's trapped under him, pressed against the sheets as Jaskier cries out, feeling his cheeks slowly grow wet.

“Mine to  _ breed _ ” Geralt growls and with a choked off whimper, Jaskier comes around Geralt's fingers, hole fluttering and hips rutting into the bed as Geralt  _ keeps going _ , adding a finger and stretching him out more, until Jaskier’s face is wet and dripping with tears.

Then the fingers are gone, and Jaskier wonders if it's all over, if the heat under his skin will fade, when something thicker than fingers is pressed against his hole. He yelps when he is tugged up by his collar, pressed against Geralt's chest as the Witcher’s fingers wrap delicately around his throat.

“Tell me no” He growls and his cock dips into Jaskiers hole, where it's fluttering, and empty. “If you don't, I won't stop until I fuck you full, understand?” Geralt’s tongue licks a stripe along Jaskier’s neck, tasting sweat and cedar. 

Jaskier catches his Witcher’s eye, swallows once and only whispers “Please”.

There is a growl, primal and angry as Geralt fits his teeth to Jaskiers neck and thrusts in, cock going deep in one thrust, making his bard cry out. The pace he sets is punishing as his naked body ruins Jaskier’s clothes, sweat soaking into silk and blood smearing on doe-hide. Jaskier is nearly limp in his grasp, where Geralt’s hand clasps like a collar around his throat and his other hand is a brand, painting bruises onto his hips in the shape of fingers.

“Mine” Geralt growls again, when Jaskier comes again, pretty pink cock jumping and spilling white down its length, dripping onto the bed. This time, Geralt lets Jaskier flop down into the wet of his own spend and fucks into him harder, plastering himself against the bards back until his hips stutter, and Jaskier can feel the older man spill into him, lighting him up from the inside as the heat of his come burns through the dwindling fire in Jaskier’s chest.

But Geralt doesn't stop thrusting, only slows and presses a kiss to Jaskier’s hair as the bard sobs, blinking salt-water from his eyes.

“Tell me no.”

A gasp, a thrust, and finally, a whisper.

  
“ _ Please, my Witcher” _


End file.
